


What Kind of Love is This?

by PenelopeGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M, I have edited the tags since i've posted this, Other, also, and the deathly hallows, and the relationship (tomione) is about to get really weird, and this is sort of weird, but i have always wanted to do this, changed to unrated because it might be going down, dubious identity, especially post chapter called war of hearts, harry potter 7, horcrux, i obviously didn't plan this far, i think, if you don't, it is always that, obviously, okay maybe a little before that, so if you like it, sort of dark but not really, then don't., then like it, this is set during, to harry potter, tom riddle is a hot piece of cake that i won't mind eating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeGrace/pseuds/PenelopeGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story about how two extraordinary individuals became one. AU set in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Song lyrics + Tomione.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Nothing

“You took my heart and you held it in your mouth  
And, with a word all my love came rushing out  
And, every whisper, it's the worst, empty out by a single word  
There is a hollow in me now.”

Hermione Granger can’t quite remember where it all started.

No, that’s wrong. She remembers. But she doesn’t want to remember. Because it is all her fault—all her fault, all her fault. If she hadn’t been so vulnerable, if she hadn’t had that fight with Ron, if Ron never left, if her heart was never cracked open, if, if, if…

If.

But the truth is that she set unleashed the greatest evil ever known to the Wizarding World. And oh, that evil was—still is—so seductive. It told her tender words with a smirk—and she knew how evil but she fell anyway. It felt so good to fall into the gaping darkness.

It started in the forest.

The forest… It was full of thin trees, and Hermione felt safe for a moment.

But was that safety an illusion?

It’s so hard to tell what’s real anymore.

He came to her in a dream. She had sobbed herself asleep, thinking of Ron leaving and how little hope they had left. He seemed unstoppable. Voldemort seemed unstoppable, too powerful to beat.

He came to her in a dream.

He came to her in a dream.

At first, she thought he was just a figment of her imagination. She babbled to him about some properties of unicorn blood, and he only smirked as he raised his hand to her jaw and caressed it gently as if he was an angel.

He wasn’t an angel. He was so much worse than a demon.

The second night, he listened to her as she cried. Just patient. Just calm. His handsome, sharp face stared at her while she relived all of her terrible nightmares. When the horrors died away, he offered her a hand—a seemingly bright light in the mountain of bloody memories. And he pulled her out and said, “Everything will be fine.”

Lies, lies, lies.

But she believed me. And as she slept, she clutched that horcrux around her neck even tighter, as if it was an innocent stuffed animal.

It was not.

The third night, he opened up his arms and shielded her from phantoms of her nightmare. She held him even tighter, not letting go like how he wasn’t going to let go of her. He was her shelter from her past, and he was her present. He was all she knew in that dream, and he wasn’t going to let her know anything else but him. She was his, even though she didn’t know it yet.

The fourth night, she relived through her better memories and the devil saw what made her her. The good, the bad, the days of studying, the panic, and the strength. And the courage. And he even had to acknowledge how powerful her loyalty was.

Is.

The fifth night, he gently closed her eyes and let her rest. She was at peace with herself, her dreams, her sleep. She slept better than the boy with the lightning-shaped scar.

He was patient. Very patient.

The sixth night, he kissed her on the forehead and promised her the world. He promised her knowledge, but she didn’t want it. He was frustrated, yes. But then he kissed her again and said, “I’ll bring back Ron. I’ll bring him back to you. And everything will be the same as before.”

And oh.

He saw the temptation in her eyes.

He knew she is so close to taking the bait.

He resisted a smile.

Almost…

And she said no and woke up.

In the empty night, he smiled to himself. She was much stronger than he ever thought. Taking every single bit of her soul would be sweet.

He wished it would last much longer, but he was running out of time.

“So I'll put my faith in something unknown  
I'm living on such sweet nothing  
But I'm tied of hope with nothing to hope  
I'm living on such sweet nothing  
And it's hard to learn  
And it's hard to learn  
When you're giving me such sweet nothing  
Sweet nothing, sweet nothing  
You're giving me such sweet nothing.”

The seventh night, he gave a piece of himself to her. She closed her eyes with happiness, and he captured her breath in his mouth. He wrapped his hands around his shoulder and asked if she wanted him.

And she said yes.

He absorbed that strength. She was weaker.

And he was stronger.

He asked if she would give him what he wanted.

And she said yes.

He took away that spark in her eyes.

He sipped away parts of her soul.

He drained her courage.

But he didn’t touch her love.

It was poison to him. Sweet, delicious poison. A glorious poison to die from. But he, Lord Voldemort, will never be that foolish to drink it. Love was useless, and through the years he had lived through, he knew that it was one thing.

Weak.

She gave him everything.

But he grabbed what he wanted.

The eighth night, she was there. She was barely hanging onto the world of the living. She was grey, and her eyes no longer held that brightness he liked. She was… empty. Unpassionate. But that wasn’t entirely correct. Love was what she had left.

And regret. He saw it growing in her.

He pitied her. So he granted her one mercy.

He went over to the mess that was her soul, her life, her spirit. He, so full of color and brightness and beauty that was once hers, placed his lips on her chapped mouth. He breathed in her scent and then breathed out. He breathed out a breath that went to her.

He gave a piece of himself to her.

After all, Lord Voldemort rewarded those who deserve it.

He backed away from the girl to see a little tiny spark in her brown eyes. He… for a moment, stumbled as he slipped back into the locket. He wasn’t quite sure what he saw there. But he was proud of her for not begging him to stay. She was strong, and he so admired her strength.

As if he didn’t take all of it already.

She was powered on love, regret, remorse, sadness…

And that piece of soul he gave her.

He stared at her for a long time.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. Of the love that shined through her. It wasn’t anything like silly Harry Potter’s love. It was dark, passionate, and oily. It was the sort of love that would burn everything in its path. It would burn him, if he set it aflame.

But he liked it.

And his soul was the match, was the spark to light up dry wood.

He watched Granger’s soul go up in relentless fire.

He burned.

He was poisoned.

“And it's not enough  
To tell me that you care  
When, we both know that words are empty air  
You give me nothing.”

She was awake.

And she knew what she did. She gave him everything.

He gave her nothing.

And she was so, so empty of anything.

But rage. It came to her in droves, igniting her from inside. She threw down the locket and panted. The locket burned against her skin.

On the floor, Harry Potter woke up and asked, “Hermione? What’s going on?”

With determination, she answered, “We need to destroy the locket. Before he gets any stronger than before.”

“Too late,” whispered a voice. “Too late.”

And with a pop, the Slytherin locket disappeared.

It’s all her fault.


	2. Up In the Air

The horcrux isn’t quite like Lord Voldemort. Where Lord Voldemort leaves an undisputed trail of dead bodies with marks of the Killing Curse all over them, the horcrux leaves behind a different set of victims. They are drained of their life, their spirit—anything that differentiates them from everyone else. They are practically Inferi, just without the looks and appearances.

And then, there are the ones who are lucky enough to survive. Granted, there are many more survivors, but there are many more scars.

Hermione isn’t quite sure what she wants to do. She isn’t like Harry, who’s strong and sure of himself and wants to finish Voldemort more than ever.

She lets herself be empty. Devoid of anything and everything. Simply filled with the spirit of nothing. At night, her nightmares don’t bother her. During the day, she is sure that demons hunt her.

She can’t let herself feel.

Because if she feels, she’ll feel too much.

Maybe that is why Voldemort seems so inhuman. Because he doesn’t feel anything at all.

After viewing the seventeenth set of victims, Harry Potter kicks the pile of snow. Hermione barely notices, and she doesn’t really blame him. They are lost. Both without their ginger best friend. Both without a horcrux they’re supposed to destroy in the first place.

Not lose.

“I've been up in the air  
Out of my head  
Stuck in a moment of emotion I've destroyed  
Is this the end I feel?”

Moving through the piles of snow, Hermione wonders what she’ll do when she sees the horcrux again. Will she destroy it? Kill it? Or will she fall prey to it all over again?

Her chest tightens. With horror, she finds the last bit not too painful than she thought it would be. And even worse is that she misses it. Misses him.

“Up in the air  
Fucked up our life  
All of the laws I've broken, loves that I've sacrificed  
Is this the end?  
I wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love”

Rage. That is what she would feel if she chooses to let emotions in. But more than rage, too. That emotion is a dark, disgusting thing she would hide to the end of time.

Why does she feel that way?

It’s not possible.

And while she walks across the graveyard, she kicks the snow and daydreams the death of Voldemort’s horcrux. The Killing Curse is too good for it.

Rage.

She’ll wrap her hands around his neck.

Rage.

Tighten her grip.

Rage.

And watch as he slips gently away to his death.

It would be so sweet.

It would be one step towards the end.

“A thousand times I've tempted fate  
A thousand times I've played this game  
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today”

Voldemort knows he’s getting stronger. So many souls. So much life to absorb until he feels whole again. He forgets how much fun it is to not use the Killing Curse—to limit himself. To toy around with hearts until he gets what he wants. Patience is so a pleasant virtue.

The orphanage he grew up in would call him the fallen angel, the devil, or the devil’s spawn. But it doesn’t matter, does it? He might as well be all three.

The orphanage used to do silly little exorcisms on him. They would pray to God and hope that He would be able to cure the disturbed little boy.

Voldemort snorts. As if there is even a God in this world.

Biblical stories. The Devil—whose name is Satan—was once a glorious archangel. The brightest of all angels. The Morningstar.

Lucifer.

Voldemort sucks away the life of a woman. He doesn’t know who she is or where she came from. All he knows is that she can do a lot for him. Like provide him more power. More energy.

He can feel his body becoming even more solid.

Lucifer, the light archangel.

Who fell into darkness. Fell due to his pride, due to his jealousy, due to the call of the dark.

His first few victims—namely his filthy Muggle father and his equally filthy family—called him a demon. A devil’s spawn. Someone who shouldn’t exist but does. They cursed him and his mother, so he cursed them with death.

Lucifer.

He is not Lucifer. He has always been in the dark, and that is where he will remain.

The woman stumble back from him. Clutching her stomach and nose, she moans, “What have you done to me?”

He could hardly care.

He turns to the overarching mountains in the distance. Taking his nose to the air like how a snake would, he delicately sniffs. Feels. Knows.

His eyes widen suddenly.

Hermione Granger is close. Hunting him down.

He smiles—smirking, more like.

He has to admire her. Even after absorbing so much of her soul, she is still living and surviving. She still has strength to go on. Muggleborn or not, she is impressive.

Worthy to play.

“I've been up in the air  
Lost in the night  
I wouldn't trade out for you lies you lost for my life  
Is this the end?”

He is close. She can tell.

Perhaps it is because of their connection. Perhaps it is because of the way Harry clutches his scar. Perhaps it is just because of…

She isn’t quite sure how she can define her relationship with the horcrux.

Night obscures the monsters hidden in the shadows; the new moon shows them nothing in the darkness. The graveyard is empty except for Harry and her.

And him.

He’s so beautiful. A monster like him shouldn’t look that way.

A well-sent blue jet of light knocks Harry out.

Clutching her wand, she isn’t sure who stunned him. It could have been her. It could have been the horcrux. Time and space seems to bend when she’s around it.

Him.

“You were the love of my life, the darkness, the light  
This is a portrait of the tortured you and I  
Is this the, is this the, is this the end?  
I wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love, love”

Beautiful with hard edges and dark magic clinging to him. The horcrux hangs around his neck, and he looks so solid—too solid. More human than ghost. His robes floats across the snow as he closes the distance between them.

He raises his hand, his finger brushing her jaw.

Feather-like touch.

So gentle. So calm.

It shouldn’t be because of a monster.

All thoughts of killing him goes away. No Killing Curse can finish him. He is too difficult to stop, and she knows that she doesn’t have the strength to finish him. She can’t finish him.

Her heart pounds so much.

Her bottom lip trembles.

And she closes her eyes.

Waits for her end.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, she feels his mouth on hers.

And she doesn’t feel so empty anymore. Or vengeful. Or hateful.

Just complete.

It’s not the first kiss she has had with him. But it is the first kiss she can truly remember. It’s not the kiss that she remembers through fuzzy dreams and distant memories. This is a kiss where she can feel his warmth, feel the softness of his lips, and brush against his robes. She can smell him. He smells like…

A little bit of cinnamon…

A little bit of lemon…

And iron-rich blood.

He has killed.

She can’t bring herself to care.

“A thousand times I've tempted fate  
A thousand times I've played this game  
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today  
A thousand times I've tempted fate  
A thousand times I've played this game  
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today”

He leans a little back from her.

He has said so many things. But never before has he said this.

“Come with me.”

He offers her a hand.

“I've been up in the air  
Is this the end I feel?  
Up in the air  
Chasing a dream so real  
I've been up in the air (I wrap my hands around your neck)  
Is this the end I feel  
Up in the air  
Chasing a dream, Chasing a dream”

She isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

His offer, that is.

Promising her death would make sense. Promising pain would make sense. But promising this? Why does he even want her to follow him? She is a Muggleborn witch, a friend of Harry Potter, and an enemy of his. Why?

Raising her eyebrow, she asks, “You want me to come with you?”

“Yes.”

And that word is like opening a floodgate. Something happens between them, but Hermione Granger doesn’t feel sick anymore. Not the way she felt when she said yes to him.

She is whole again.

“Take no more  
Take no more  
Take no more  
I'll take no more”

Everything rushes out of him. All the air sucks out of him. Someone must have punched him in the stomach, but he knows that is Hermione who has done this. Reverse. Reversal of what he did to her.

Is this her revenge?

He stumbles backwards, his legs tangling with his robes. Clutching his head, he screams aloud. Scream, scream, scream.

Until all he can feel is light.

And he can’t stand it.

The darkness can not exist when there’s light.

“A thousand times I've tempted fate (I'll take no more)  
A thousand times I've played this game (I'll take no more)  
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today (I'll take no more)”

He feels like he is dying.

Fire eats him. Piece by piece.

He has lost.

Flames consume him.

And the lies are catching up with him, because of the one truth he has spoken. It is true. He would let Hermione Granger come with him. He doesn’t know why. But logically, it makes sense. She is smarter than any normal witch or wizard. Twice as brilliant despite the unworthy blood running through her veins.

He falls until there is nothing but ash.

“Today (I wrap my hands)  
Today (hands around)  
Today (your neck)  
Today (with love, love)  
Today (I'll wrap my hands)  
Today (around your neck)  
Today (with love, love)  
Today”

She stares at his fallen body lying on the bed of snow. She can feel the anger rushing through her head. Distantly, she muses that rage is what Harry must feel sometimes. It’s… powerful.

It could make her do something reckless.

Moving before her mind realizes it, she bends down and grips the robes tightly. In a rush of words, she whispers, “I will give you what you didn’t want.”

Love.

The ultimate light.

“I'll wrap my hands around your neck  
I'll wrap my hands around your neck with love, love”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review! I love feedback!
> 
> And I'm sorry if any of the song lyrics are hard to tell. I try my best, but ao3's format isn't familiar.


	3. Shots

“I'm sorry for everything  
Oh everything I've done”

In the light, the darkness is banished. Severely weakened, Tom Riddle backs away from Hermione. He fumbles through Harry Potter’s clothes until he finds a wand. While he was going through all of those Muggle souls, he had no need for a wand. They don’t understand magic at all.

He grasps the wand in his hand, the Killing Curse right at his tongue.

It only takes less than a breath to say it.

But his hand hesitates as his eyes find Hermione’s.

He drops the unfamiliar wand, which falls to the ash-like snow.

And Apparates away.

“Am I out of touch?  
Am I out of my place?  
When I keep saying that I'm looking for an  
empty space  
Oh I'm wishing you're here  
But I'm wishing you're gone  
I can't have you and I'm only gonna do you  
wrong”

Harry asks, “What happened?”

And all Hermione can say is this:

I don’t know.

She doesn’t know.

One moment, he was poised to kill her.

The next, he spared her. Was unable to.

Why?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Part of her wants to know why.

While the other part wants him to stay far, far away from her. As far as possible, as far as necessary, as far as she can put him out of her mind.

“Oh I'm going to mess this up  
Oh this is just my luck  
Over and over and over again”

His shadow ghosts across the old house of a Muggle man named Frank. He knows who has killed him even though he has no memories of it. Tom Riddle knows.

Voldemort, the other part of his soul and the murderer of so many.

“I'm sorry for everything  
Oh everything I've done  
from the second that I was born  
It seems I had a loaded gun  
and then I shot, shot, shot a hole through  
everything I loved  
Oh I shot, shot, shot a hole through every single  
thing that I loved”

He doesn’t understand why he is standing in front of his father’s ruined mansion. It doesn’t make sense. Up is down. Down is up. His head spins from vertigo, and he is sure that he will never come back down to solid ground.

But does he even want to?

(He doesn’t.)

(He does.)

(He doesn’t.)

(He does.)

(He doesn’t.)

(He does.)

If he does come back down, everything will be the same. If he doesn’t…

Well, he doesn’t know what will happen. But he knows that everything will change.

He stares out at the distance.

It’s dawn.

“Am I out of luck?  
am I waiting to break  
when I keep saying that I'm looking for a  
way to escape?  
Oh I'm wishing I had what I'd taken for granted  
I can't help you when I'm only gonna do  
you wrong”

She did something to him. He disappears into the closest, magical library he could find. It happens to be Malfoy Manor’s extensive library full of dark books. He digs through them all, trying to figure out what exactly happened in that moment—that moment where he has fallen and she grew.

There is something weird about his soul.

It feels fuller than it has ever been. Even after he has absorbed the life energy and souls of all those dozens of Muggles.

Did he feel an imbalance of powers correcting itself?

Did he feel something that has been never recorded?

Did he feel…?

No. He would not acknowledge it.

It takes a long time, but he finally finds what she has done to him.

Taken back what was hers.

And gave him what he didn’t want.

He tests his hypothesis. Focusing on the happiest memory he can think of, he raises his hand and casts, “Expecto Patronum!”

For a dark wizard like him, that spell doesn’t work. In all of his school years, ever since he has found that spell, he knows that the spell doesn’t work for him. He has tried it in preparation of his DADA exams, but the most he has ever gotten is a tiny spark of silvery light.

That’s it.

With relief, he finds nothing.

But he forces himself to try again. This time, he thinks of… brown eyes, a mess of a thing called hair, and her sharp intelligence. Her determination. Her strength.

Her love.

He has no idea what she’s saying in that memory, but he knows that he likes every minute she spoke, every motion she did, and everything about her.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A large mass moves through his fingertips, coming to life. With a gasp, he backs away and finds himself in the eyes of an otter.

Slowly, he reaches out to touch it. It’s as if he’s under a heavy spell. As if he’s underwater and trying to think straight. As if he’s trying not to drown.

The otter disappears before he can touch it.

He collapses into a nearby armchair, his palms covering his face. What has Hermione Granger done to him and why does he not care so much?

“In the meantime can we let it go  
at the roadside that  
we used to know  
We can let this drift away  
Oh we let this drift away  
at the bayside  
where you used to show  
in the moonlight  
where we let it go  
We can let this drift away  
Oh we let this drift away”

He finds Hermione Granger at Harry Potter’s childhood home. The place where he—no, Lord Voldemort, the future self of him—killed Potter’s parents.

He doesn’t even know their names.

Yet he is responsible for their deaths. A part of him is.

A snake, hissing and spewing, attacks them. He watches as Harry Potter goes mad—or at least, that is what it looks like. His wand breaks in his hand, and Hermione Granger is the one who manages to force the snake back.

He rushes even further into the house and hisses at that snake. “What are you doing?”

“Master?” hisses the snake, obviously confused. It takes a sniff. “You smell like him. But you do not look like him.”

“Back away,” he orders. He meets its eyes, and with a jolt in his posture, he immediately recognizes what he’s looking at.

His future self…

Other self, that is?

…has made the snake into a horcrux.

He has no idea whether to be amazed or horrified.

“Cease.”

And the snake stops.

He turns to Hermione and advises, “You better leave now. Before he comes.”

“Why?” is the only word she has. She doesn’t ask anymore, just disappears into thin air. He has no idea where she is going, but he can feel the pull between them. It’s stronger than ever before.

Then he turns back to the snake, which tilts its head. “Why did you let them go?”

He isn’t sure of that either.

He holds out his hand towards the snake. He isn’t quite sure what he is doing, but all he can feel is the most violent kind of pain. It hurts even more than the pain involved in the making of a horcrux.

Part of him hopes he would die from the pain.

It would solve a lot of problems.

“And there's always time to change your mind  
Oh there's always time to change your mind  
Oh love, can you hear me?  
Oh let it drift away”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and review! Feedback is awesome!


	4. Sun

“With golden streams  
Our universe was clothed in light  
Pulling at the seams  
Our once barren world now brims with life.”

Harry is out.

She isn’t quite certain why the horcrux interfered. Isn’t it supposed to be the most evil object in the world? Isn’t it the archenemy of Harry? Doesn’t it want to kill her?

“Is he alright?” asks the horcrux in question, appearing right in front of her. He peers over her shoulder and stare at Harry. 

Is that concern in his eyes?

Genuine concern?

She doubts it.

She never answers his question. She patches up Harry the best she can and lets him be. Letting him rest may be the best way of helping him.

“What are you doing here?”

“You are hunting horcruxes.”

She doesn’t answer that.

They both know the truth.

They don’t need to speak.

“I know what you did to me.”

“What did I do to you?”

After a long moment, Tom softly answers, “You gave me things I don’t understand.” A pause as he considers something. “You gave me regret. You gave me memories of things I’ve never done. You gave me pieces of you. Most importantly of all, you gave me your heart.”

All is silent in the woods.

“Love.”

Tom sneers. “Love. Pathetic.”

Albus Dumbledore’s sort of ideal.

“Powerful.”

“And weak.” But his voice lacks conviction.

“Light. That brightens up the night.”

He doesn’t reply.

“That we may fall in love  
Every time we open up our eyes  
I guess space, and time,  
takes violent things, angry things  
And makes them kind”

He stays a distance from her, as if she is a skittish gazelle that will run at the sharpest movement. He moves to the other side of Harry Potter, directly across from her. She is battle worn, dirty, and absolutely, undoubtedly beautiful.

“I want to help you,” he tells her. And the words are true.

But they don’t sound… completely right.

He is a toddler, stumbling over the words that is his feet. He is learning as he goes, and he will not know how to walk until he tries, tries, and tries again.

“This is all your fault.” Fury shines in her eyes.

“I know. I need to make it right.”

That sounds… complete.

But he is still not quite there yet.

And as the sun rises over the horizon, he watches as the anger leaves her and she nods. Just a little bit. And he lets out a sigh of pure relief.

“We are the dust of dust  
We are the apple of God's eye  
We are infinite  
As the universe we hold inside”

Harry Potter is awake.

His green eyes meet Tom’s.

“You!”

“Me.” He is calm. Calmer than Potter.

He reaches towards his pants, where his wand normally would be. But the wand is broken. No matter how many times Hermione tries to fix it. Broken. Broken. Broken.

“Hermione, where’s my wand?”

To his surprise, Hermione immediately begins apologizing.

Tom turns away. He has no patience for this sort of thing. He kicks around the floors of the tent and wanders around a little bit. The protection spells surrounding the tent are powerful, and he really has to admire Hermione’s spellwork.

There is nothing quite like it.

“Infinity times infinity  
Infinity times infinity times infinity  
Infinity times infinity times infinity times infinity  
Let there be light, let there be light  
Let me be right”

The sun is bright. Right over his head. The forest is illuminated, the snow is glittering, and he wonders why he has never appreciated the beauty of the world until now. If only he has looked a little longer, then maybe he would have realized how precious world is.

“Why are you here?” Harry Potter stands next to him, Hermione’s wand pointed towards him with caution.

He can’t blame him. After all, Voldemort killed a lot of people.

He killed a lot of people.

The list of the dead goes on and on, and at some recent moments, he is sure he is on the brink of crying and wanting to scream at the sky and apologize for everything he has done. The darkness that has always justified his bloodlust, his killings, and his hate is vanquished by the light, and the light wants him to atone for everything he has done.

Even though he is closer to an answer, he still says, “I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” he grits.

“Myrtle Warren, Thomas Riddle, Tom Riddle Senior, Mary Riddle, and Hepzibah Smith. The deaths I remember. If you want to know about the deaths I don’t, then I can’t help you.”

Five people. And he can’t even list all of the lives he ruined. Directly or indirectly. He remembers a house elf. He remembers the crying family of Myrtle Warren, and he remembers the sickening glee of getting away with it.

“Where is the locket?”

Tom Riddle raises his eyebrow at the boy. He reaches up to his neck and removes the horcrux. Then he hands it to Harry. “If you want to kill me, then by all means, do it.”

Harry takes it. “Why?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” he simply answers.

“The dust of dust  
We are the apple of God's eye  
We are infinite  
As the universe we hold inside”

From the distance, Tom Riddle watches Harry disappear underwater through a hole in the ice. He can’t decide whether it has to be the most foolish thing he has ever had the luck to witness or the bravest act. Probably the former, but he has to admit that Potter has a lot of guts.

Then he watches Potter spectacularly miss the hole towards freedom. Tom sighs, waits a good second, and then is pushed by his conscience to do something. He tears off his robe and jumps in after Potter. He yanks him back towards the gap, but he finds it missing.

With faint irritation, he wonders if the lake just hates people and wants them to drown.

Then a hand is at his shoulder, and he breathes sharp, delicious air.

“We are the dust of dust  
We are the apple of God's eye  
We are infinite  
As the universe we hold inside”

Ron—the ginger Tom recognizes from Hermione’s memories—manages to chat a little bit about his latest adventures. Something about running away from the Snatchers.

He snap his finger, and his clothes are instantly dried. He stands up, completely ignoring the long sword in Potter’s hand, and takes a step forward to wander off.

“Wait.”

The ginger’s words force him to stop.

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

“Tom Riddle,” he answers.

Ron furrows his eyes, glancing at Harry. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Tom takes it as a good sign that the ginger hasn’t attacked him yet.

“I’m the horcrux.”

That is when he gets a blue jet of light in his face.

He easily steps aside of it. Then he turns to Potter and says, with exasperation, “Is this really necessary? Because if I wanted you all dead, you would be all dead.”

Those words do not assuage Ron’s determination to attack.

“Ooohhh ooohh ooohhh  
Ooohhh ooohh oohhh  
Let there be light, let there be light  
Let me be right”

It takes a long time to calm the ginger down.

“You are the horcrux?”

“Yes.” He wonders why Hermione would surround herself with dimwitted friends. He muses, they must have some other virtues.

“You don’t look like the horcrux. Like the locket.”

“Why?” snidely remarks Tom. “I haven’t realized that.”

Ron looks at Potter. “Can we finish him? With the sword?”

Potter takes off the locket. Calmly, almost serenely, Tom watches as they move over to a large trunk that has fallen over in a storm of some sorts. He can distantly remember the times when Hermione and Harry took turns just firing spells at the locket.

At him, to be accurate.

Quite boring spells, but they are powerful.

Just not powerful enough.

“I’ll help you destroy me,” he says, his voice cutting across the silence. Towards the locket, he orders, “Open.”

And it opens. Its weakness bared to the world.

Ron, who holds the sword, doesn’t move. “Are you sure that is the real horcrux?”

“Sure,” replies Potter.

More waiting.

Unable to resist the urge of twiddling his thumbs and picking his fingers, Tom snarks, “What are you waiting for? An execution order?”

And the ginger finally lowers the sword, killing the horcrux. The sword slashes into the heart of the horcrux, and light eats it from inside out.

Falling to the ground, Tom screams.

His chest is on fire.

His heart pounds.

His ears burst.

And every part of him will never be the same.

“With golden string  
Our universe was brought to light  
That we may fall in love  
Every time we open up our eyes”

He opens his eyes. His clothes are wet from the snow, and he quickly finds the broken, pitiful locket smoking with dying darkness. The sword has killed it. Truly killed it.

But why is he still alive?

He looks towards the ginger and the Chosen One.

It’s clear the neither of them have an answer.

He slowly pushes himself up, and it is as if there’s a weight lifted from his shoulder. He turns towards a girl—no, a woman—rushing towards them from a distance. The sun rises so high up against the sky, and he has to block it out. It’s painful, yes. Blinding enough to leave no place for the shadows to hide.

“Hermione,” he whispers. Then his hands fly up, pressing against his chest. As if trying to relieve the pain in the hollowed hole of where his heart should be.

He passes out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and review! And recommend any songs I can use for Tomione.


	5. I Started a Joke

"I started a joke which started the whole world crying  
But I didn't see that the joke was on me oh no  
I started to cry which started the whole world laughing  
Oh If I'd only seen that the joke was on me"

Memories rushes by. All of those things he has done. They started when he was young. He remembers doing so many terrible, terrible things.

A tiny part of him wonders why he started apologizing for what he has done now. A tiny part of him wonders what made him change. A tiny part of him knows that Hermione Granger has done something to him.

The orphanage. He wonders how Ms. Cole manages to put up with him after all those years. A sharp jolt hits him. Ms. Cole has tried getting the local priests to exorcise him. But the priests thought that he was cleansed when they went through the entire scripture.

He could probably recite the entire prayer.

Redemption. Repentance. Forgiveness.

Thoughts run by and his once well-crafted words become nothing but a mess.

I'm so sorry for everything I've done.

I destroyed everything that I've loved.

From the second he was born…

He was violence.

He was destruction.

He was impure.

The priests may call him the devil, but he is no Morningstar. He may had the characteristics and charisma of the devil. But he has never fell from Heaven. Never fell from light.

Never has known light until now.

He was Abaddon. The demon of destruction.

"I looked at the skies running my hands over my eyes  
And I fell out of bed hurting my head from things that I said  
'Till I finally died which started the whole world living  
Oh if I'd only seen that the joke was on me"

Thanks to him, the world has known the greatest evil that will ever be. He has seen flashes of what his other self has been doing. Harry Potter knows what ugly acts he has committed. Murder, torture, manipulation…

The lines blur so much until they aren't any lines to cross anymore.

He said so much. He destroyed so many people.

They scream. They beg. They kneel. They look the other way as he does whatever he wants. They grovel to his feet, and once upon a time, perhaps he would gain a simple delight from it all. But he feels the most intense sickness that isn't quite him.

(Perhaps Hermione did something to him?)

(Perhaps the sword has destroyed something?)

(Or perhaps he has been poisoned by something far out of his understanding?)

(But he's starting to understand now.)

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Millions.

He doesn't know their names. He only remembers his early victims. Then their faces start to blur into each other, and the murders aren't as fun as they used to be. They are… Gross. He has a huge temptation to take a very long shower and scrub, scrub, scrub until his skin is bleeding red with blood that is the same as his victims. As all of his victims.

And he would only hurt more…

Why? Why did he do all of those things?

Unless he dies.

"I looked at the skies running my hands over my eyes  
And I fell out of bed hurting my head from things that I said  
'Till I finally died which started the whole world living  
Oh if I'd only seen that the joke was on me  
Oh no that the joke was on me"

Because he has the kind of darkness that can't be locked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and review!


	6. Cosmic Love

“A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes  
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind”

She isn’t quite sure where it has all began. She doesn’t know the exact moment when she begins to feel something more for the horcrux. It’s an unholy kind of thing that nuns would probably warn against. Never believe the devil’s lies. Never consider a single word of what he says. Never run with him or else you will never go to Heaven and your soul will always belong to him.

She supposes that is what they’ll probably say.

It sounds about right.

She doesn’t know. She isn’t one hundred percent sure of her memories. It has been too long since she has gone to church. 

 

“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out  
You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
In the shadow of your heart”

He took and took and took everything she had. He fed on her.

He drained her of everything she valued.

And he smiled.

She liked it when he fed on her. All the attention… All of the… Well, she wouldn’t call it love, but she will call it attraction. She’s not sure it’s mutual, but if it was, it’s a very good act.

And when he was done with her, he had thrown her aside.

(It’s too soon to tell.)

“And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat  
I tried to find the sound  
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,  
So darkness I became”

Then he came back.

She wasn’t sure what he wanted this time. At that time, she would be happy to throw herself at his feet and give up anything he wanted. But she knew it was going to be a heavy price to get him to stay. And she so wanted him to stay.

Not love, but need.

Not need, but want.

But tell her body and soul that. She knows she doesn’t need him, and she knows that she wants him, but he is not good for her.

(He is poison.)

(He is an illness.)

(He is a demon.)

And when he said that he wanted her to come with her, her heart skipped a beat. She held on tightly to him, but she still lost him just the same.

And she was alone.

She could begin to understand the way Tom Riddle was put together. Molded by the darkness, suffered through war, and was labeled as a strange child and was dwelt with suspicion and harshness until he developed his charisma.

She could see his memories, and she knows the way his soul feels.

As if it’s her own.

And in a way, it is hers.

Her heart is his heart is her heart is his heart.

They are too merged together to tell each other apart.

“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out  
You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
In the shadow of your heart”

While he was gone, she began dreaming things that she had never lived through. She knows the perspective of a child living through World War II. Though the Wizarding War pays little to none attention to the “Muggles’ problem,” Tom Riddle was reminded of the war every time he came back to the orphanage. He paid attention.

He lived through it all. The hopelessness. The lack of food. The discomfort. It all heightened up to the point that after being bullied twice in a single day, Tom only had a simple porridge in a day.

It wasn’t nutritious.

She twisted and turned in her bed, but she lived through everything. She started with the younger years of his childhood, living and living and living a second life that didn’t—and will never—belong to her. She reread so many books and read books so dark she would never dream of touching them. Tom was talented—still is—even without considering his skill in Dark Magic. He knew so many hexes and curses, practicing and practicing while he still could. He was gifted in Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Divination, and more.

He swallowed knowledge like how she drank a book’s words.

So much. So much. So much.

They were more alike than they would dream of.

“I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map  
And knew that somehow I could find my way back  
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too  
So I stayed in the darkness with you”

She witnessed the darkness growing within him. He had a soul that was bordering dark when he was a child, but he most certainly passed that line when he began practicing dangerous curses Hogwarts professors would never teach or even inform students. So dark. So gruesome.

But so… addictive.

She could see the appeal.

The dreams, the memories stopped when he was in his seventh year. She wasn’t sure what happened next, but she knew it wasn’t good.

Still, despite everything…

She… cared—and still cares—for him.

He came back. But not the same as before.

Different. Less dark. Less suffocating.

Not like before.

When he was so suffocating, as if trying to snuff out her soul.

But she suspects he wants something.

If he ever wants her to come with him, she’ll say yes.

It reminds me of an old saying from her early childhoods.

“Where you go, I’ll go. Where you stay, I’ll stay. Where you’ll die, there I’ll be buried.”

And that is what she’ll do.

“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out  
You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
In the shadow of your heart”

She’ll follow him.

She supposed she knows why.

But it’s still too soon to truly tell.

But she feels a lot for him.

Pity for the monster who is alone.

Sadness for her lost innocence.

And…

It’s too soon to tell.

“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out  
You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight  
In the shadow of your heart”

He’s awake.

It’s still too soon to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know that the quote (stated by Ruth from the Bible) isn't accurate, but I'm too tired to fix anything. I'm sorry. 
> 
> Read and review.


	7. War of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So you may or may not realize this, but I have lost my notes on this fanfic. That means I lost whatever way/plot I'm supposed to write. I read over this, and I'm trying to remember what hints I've thrown in, but seriously, none of this is ringing a bell. (Did I actually write this fanfic? I don't know.) So I'm writing in a different way and perhaps going in a different direction than what the previous chapters were saying. 
> 
> I don't know, but this is the point where I've returned to this fanfic and I don't remember the reason I wrote this. (I know, I know. It was only March of this year. I was really knocked out by what happened in March. Now that was a bad month. Along with April.)

She feels like she is in a dream.

A very long, weird dream.

But it is a real one.

Far from their campsite is Tom Riddle standing with a black wool coat and a pensive look on his face. He appears to be looking across the field of trees, but he is focused on nothing at all.

 _“Come to me_  
In the night hours  
I will wait for you  
And I can’t sleep  
Cause thoughts devour  
Thoughts of you consume”

“How are you alive?” she whispers.

Shaken out of his thoughts with a very startled but very and oddly human look, he answers, “I don’t know. How could a man whose existence depends on an object suddenly find himself living without it? How does a man live without water, without air, and still manages to survive?”

A pause.

Then she tells him, “He can’t live at all.” __  
  
“I can't help but love you  
Even though I try not to  
I can't help but want you  
I know that I'd die without you”

They head back to the campsite, ready to hunt for the next horcrux. But she can’t help but watch every single move he makes as he quietly becomes part of their little group fighting against an insane man—who was part of him.

She watches him far more closely than Harry or Ron watches him. Every single movement, every bite he takes, every breath he breathes in, and every single blink of his eye. She burns him into her memory, igniting the spark she has always kept just for him.

There is something between them.

She is afraid that _bond_ is stronger than her friendship—that if he ever does turn dark again and shows a darker side of himself, she would follow him into the darkness. Because that magnetic force pulls her towards him—forged from something she didn’t understand.

She gave him something.

She doesn’t know what.

But it must have been her heart, because she keeps on trying to find it again.

 _“Stay with me a little longer_  
I will wait for you  
Shadows creep  
And want grows stronger  
Deeper than the truth”

“Where is the horcrux?” she whispers. He refuses to answer Harry’s or Ron’s questions about his other horcruxes. She knows that he knows where they are, but she doesn’t know how to get him to say—to stay.

She isn’t dumb enough not to notice how he always slips away from the group—how he is always the last one on the campsite, how he is always the furthest one away from the rest of them, how he is making his plans in his head.

Stay, stay, stay.

Those words are on her lips, and she will go down on her knees to beg for him to stay. She would do anything for him.

It is illogical—irrational—and completely insane.

But she _has to_. __  
  
“I can't help but love you  
Even though I try not to”

Can a man breathe without air?

No.

Can a man live without water?

Only for one day.

Can a man survive without food?

Only for three days.

Isn’t that the truth?

The more he tries to push himself away from these people, the more he realizes that he is strangely affected by Hermione Granger. He can feel her eyes on him, marking him and claiming him as hers. He wants to do the exact same thing—and he feels the exact same way.

The pulsing, gravitational bond of something he doesn’t understand nor will he probably ever comprehend and see the full glorious magnitude of it.

“Where is the horcrux?” she asks.

And he finds himself unable to deny her.

Even though, it is his downfall. __  
  
“I can't help but want you  
I know that I'd die without you”

The diadem is hidden at Hogwarts.

The diary is with the Malfoys.

The cup is at the Wizarding bank.

The ring is hidden in a cave.

The snake is with her master.

Harry Potter is right by them.

And Ron Weasley has destroyed the locket.

“And those are all the horcruxes,” he says to her shocked face. He gives her a small, sad look and whispers, “But we know their fates.”

The diadem is in the Room of Requirement.

The diary has been destroyed.

The cup is Lestrange’s vault.

Dumbledore destroyed the ring.

The snake is killing again.

Harry Potter is the last horcrux.

And the locket…

He doesn’t know what will happen to him. __  
  
“I can’t help but be wrong in the dark  
Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts  
I can’t help but want oceans to part  
Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts”

“We did many things in your dream,” he tells her, his breath brushing across her face with warmth. “You may not remember anything or you may remember everything.”

“I remember everything.” A pause. She turns towards him with bright eyes, shiny bright eyes filled with something dark and seductive—like she has took a piece of his darkness and merged it with her soul. “And I regret nothing.”

He could feel horror at her words.

But is it his horror?

Or hers?

He has an inkling of an idea of what happened to them.

“Then if I asked you to leave Ron and Harry,” he says, his back turned against her, “would you leave them for me? Would you—?”

“Yes,” she replies. Her eyes flare red—like the color of the red dawn. “All that and more.” __  
  
“I can't help but love you  
Even though I try not to  
I can't help but want you  
I know that I'd die without you”

He is wrong.

There is another one.

Hermione Granger is the last horcrux. Or perhaps she is not a horcrux at all. She is something strange—an accident created while she attempted to fight him off and reverse what he has done to her. He can begin to recall the precise moments of what happened when her light met his darkness. Neither of them probably will ever know what exactly happened that time when she reversed the polarity.

He doesn’t regret it.

But is it her regret or his?

They have merged too much to be able to tell each other apart now. __  
  
“I can’t help but be wrong in the dark  
Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts  
I can’t help but want oceans to part  
Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts”

Minds, whole.

Spirits, low.

Hearts, bloody.

Souls, one.

She took more of him, he took more of her, she merged with him, he merged with her, he kissed her, she kissed him, she fought him, he fought her, he tried to control her, she tried to command him, their powers struggled and lashed out for command and control—

And it all happens in this war.

He will lose to her.

He knows.

He will do anything for her.

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think? Please leave comments!


End file.
